


Rock It, Kid

by mortysmithh



Series: Universe R0C-K17 [1]
Category: Rick and Morty
Genre: ???? I guess, Blowjobs, Brief Sex, Frottage, Incest, M/M, Popstar Morty, Semi-Public Sex, age gap
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-20
Updated: 2016-01-20
Packaged: 2018-05-15 04:26:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,185
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5771284
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mortysmithh/pseuds/mortysmithh
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I don't even know anymore<br/>All I can say is I can totally imagine Popstar!AU Morty singing 3OH!3 songs okay<br/>And Rick being starstruck and jUsT<br/>Anyways yeah, song's Deja Vu by 3OH!3<br/>Enjoy!!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Rock It, Kid

_Hey, Mr. Bartender mix me a drink_

Nerves thrumming through his veins and mixing deliciously with adrenaline, the popstar clutches at the condensating drink in-between two delicate hands, chewing on his lip as he reviews the lyrics and tune for his latest hit song one last time in his head.  
  
_I really need something to tell me it's okay not to think,_

He tips the glass back, letting the cool burn of alcohol further ease his nerves before he struts out onto the stage, met with the hysterical shrieking and cheering of possibly millions of fans. He can see a few humans, recognizes them from his last Earth signing, and when he gives a shy wave to one girl that's screaming and jumping harder than any of the others, she nearly faints.  
  
_Because I've been to all these bars  
And I've seen all these places. _

A little giggle leaves him at the sight; he's always found it rather amusing that people could be so strongly affected by such little actions and movements from him, and for a moment, he slips back into his ‘backstage form’. Then the music starts playing, his heartbeat immediately readjusting itself to the beat of said music as he lets his head drop and his dance to materialize itself in his head.  
  
_I've hit on all these girls_  
_I've heard the same conversations._

There are two reasons that Morty ‘Dancing Angel’ Smith had become so famous so fast. One: His 16 year-old singing voice is polar opposites with his 14 year-old, prepubescent voice. Smooth and melodious, with a hint of autotune-esque breaks in it, his voice is the envy of many fellow singers and the object of lust for many, _many_ teenagers.  
  
_Cab driver, cab driver  
Take me away, _

Two: He never, ever plans his dances beforehand. What he lacks in school smarts is more than made up for with years of dance school and the way he can so fluidly meld so many clashing styles together to form a completely new type that absolutely screams _Morty.  
_  
_'Cause I already know_  
_All the words that she'll say._

And then he spots a face he recognizes, or perhaps it's just the way the stranger's looking at him with such piercingly blue eyes, lust clear in the narrow-eyed gaze, baby blue unibrow furrowed as if focused on the most delicate of tasks.  
  
_And I'll be creepin' out the window  
At the first sign of day, _

It doesn't really bother him how old the man looks; age is but a number, especially when he's already 16 Earth years. After all, he's fucked aliens nearly quadruple his age, and all he got from those experiences was that older means more skills in bed.  
  
_'Cause every single night it seems to go the same_  
_Way._

He finds his eyes drifting towards that stranger more often than he'd care to admit, enraptured by his gaze as he grinds up against his mic pole and practically moans out the lyrics to the song he knows more by muscle memory than actual effort at this point.  
  
_I think I've been here before,_  
_I think I've run into you,_

How convenient that this song is also about how it is to fuck a Flyxornian, as many limbs as they've got.  
  
_I know the things that you do,_  
_'Cause this is déjà vu._

He can see Rick’s pupils dilate, all the way from the edge of the stage where hands are reaching out in desperate attempts to touch his Docs, and he allows several people to press messy, slobbery kisses to the scuffed and worn boot tops before he backs away, one hand wrapped tightly around the microphone and holding it up to his head while the other roams his body, exposing even more skin, though the black crop top he's wearing isn't exactly very covering.  
  
_This is déjà vu._  
_(Whoaa)_  
_This is déjà vu._

He twirls around, switches off the microphone before pretending to drop it, and he looks back at the still absolutely _howling_ crowd with a mock look of surprise on his face before he bends over to pick the mic back up with a fanservice-worthy exposure of his perfectly round ass.  
  
_I think I've been here before,_  
_I think I've run into you,_

And when he looks back at the spot that blue-eyed stranger had been, the man looks considerably more debauched, sweat sticking a few pale strands of hair to his wrinkled forehead, and he seems to be attempting to readjust himself in his pants.

_I know the things that you do,_  
_'Cause this is déjà vu._

He flashes the crowd a big grin right before pressing his lips directly up against the mic and groaning out absolutely _salaciously_ about how deeply the Flyxornian had ‘understood’ him.  
  
_This is déjà vu._  
_(Whoaa)_  
_This is déjà vu._

When he turns back around to let the crowd take a nice view of his ass once more, he shakes it a bit, his body writhing and undulating with the skill a teenager his age shouldn't physically be capable of having and showing off _just_ how good he is with his hips.  
  
_Mr. Bartender,  
You will kick me out. _

He's practically whimpering into the microphone as he nears the end of the song, hips weakly rutting up against the mic stand as he shows off just how exhausted he is from the borderline-pornstar performance he'd just given.  
  
_And the blonde girl in the back  
You'll put your tongue down my mouth. _

As he walks back, he wonders if one day he should allow his family to see just what it is he gets up to while up there. Sipping at a bottle of Powerade, he shakes his head to himself; maybe once he turns 18, because at least then it'll be legal for his live shows to be less...contained? And it won't be illegal for him to act the way he does, on Earth, that is, he thinks with a little quirk of a grin twitching the left side of his mouth up just barely.  
  
_And the greaser in the jacket's  
Gonna pick a fight. _

There's the usual angry “mob” of maybe five or six boyfriends that didn't want their girlfriends coming to Morty’s concert. He waves a hand to one of his bodyguards, nodding as if to indicate wordlessly, ‘the usual.’ The blob of slime thrums twice to indicate it had heard, and it glides over, several tickets to some of Morty’s future concerts clutched in a pseudopod of goop it's extended.  
  
_And he'll probably kick my ass,  
'Cause I'm drunk every night. _

It has no problem blocking out the furious humans (it's always humans, every other species seems to understand the concept of sharing just fine, Morty muses to himself with a little giggle), shoving the free tickets into their hands with a little grimace of a smirk before promptly slamming the door in their faces.  
  
_Officer, officer  
Tell me the truth, _

Not more than ten minutes later, there's a polite knock on the door, and when Blovrp (the pile of goop) opens the door, his family's standing there, along with the attractive man from earlier, except when he's this close up, he realizes just how old the man really looks. _‘He could be my grandfather,’_ he muses idly in his mind, giving Beth a small smile as his overconfident stage self melts away to reveal the backstage form that only makes him all the more addictive to his fans.  
  
_How many times can I  
Get in trouble with you; _

“H-Hey guys! Uh, did you, d-did you like the song? A-And who's this?” He gestures towards the stranger, whom walks in with a demeanor that nearly takes Morty aback.  
  
_Before they lock me up  
For all the bad things that I do? _

It's like a mixture of his performing persona, bold and pompous and prissy and demanding, without a care in the world, and his usual self, shy, stuttery, a pushover but even moreso because people are just so used to seeing him as a narcissistic pop icon.  
  
_But you don't_  
_And that's why this feels like déjà_  
_(Ooo this feels like déjà OW)_  
_Vu._  


Confident, a little apprehensive, spine slightly hunched over from some mixture of old age and slight shyness, perhaps simply from being in the presence of such a famous singer.

_I think I've been here before,_

_I think I've run into you,_

Beth positively _beams_ , Jerry looking a bit uncomfortable in the presence of said stranger, but a little glad that Beth at least seems not as melancholy as usual. Summer looks as bored as usual, eyeing Morty up and down with a slight smirk; she's been allowed to watch recordings of Morty’s live shows ever since he'd started at the tender age of 14 and a half, planning his outfits accordingly. She knows his measurements better than _he_ does, and it's clear she's proud of her work, secret as she has to keep it.  
  
_I know the things that you do,_  
_'Cause this is déjà vu._

“This is Rick Sanchez! Morty, he's your grandfather, a-and he's my dad!” Beth is tipsy, Morty immediately notices, cheeks tinged pink as she excitedly bounces on the heels of her feet. Jerry shuffles, mumbling something discontentedly, but Rick quickly clears his throat and holds out one calloused hand, long fingers curling around Morty’s much smaller ones as he shakes twice, firmly. “Uh...h-hey, I'm Rick, if you couldn't tell. NEURGH- Nice to meet you, uh, Morty, right?”  
  
_This is déjà vu._  
_(Whoaa)_  
_This is déjà vu._

His heart skips one beat, two beats, and then finally, he remembers to breathe and shake back, a small smile gracing his lips as he nods. “Uh, y-yeah! Morty ‘Dancing Angel’ Smith,” he says with a little giggle. “S-Still can't believe my agent talked me i-into taking such a silly ‘star name’, y’know?” His natural talent for speaking with people melds easily with Rick’s personality, easy as it is for the old man to accommodate to please anyone and all.  
  
_I think I've been here before,_  
_I think I've run into you,_

He leans in, murmuring, “N-Nice show, by th’ way,” under the pretense of leaving a sloppy kiss on his grandson’s cheek. As he pulls back, he grins a toothy grin, nodding as he states, “I-I can tell we're gonna get along juuuuust fine.”  
  
_I know the things that you do,_  
_'Cause this is déjà vu._

Despite the bright red now spread over his cheeks, he grins back, returning a nod. “O-Oh yeah, I-I completely agree,” he says with a soft giggle. “W-Wanna come to my makeup room to t-talk and catch up?”  
  
_This is déjà vu._  
_(Whoaa)_  
_This is déjà vu._

Beth gushes at the suggestion, and she nods, pushing Rick towards Morty and grinning almost maniacally. “Y-Yesh- yes!! G-Go, ggggo, get familiarized, Mick- Rick and Morty!” Jerry clears his throat, excusing the three of them to make sure Beth doesn't choke on her vomit when she inevitably throws up.  
  
_I did it like this,_  
_I did it like that,_

Morty leads Rick back to his room, a galaxy-painted door with a big white cluster of stars spelling out his name at a little below eye level for Rick.

_And it always comes back around.  
I don't know how _

He opens the door, speaks something in a clear voice in a language not even Rick fully understands, and several whirrs and clicks sound, letting the both of them know that the door is _very_ locked. Turning to face his apparent grandfather, he gives the old man a small smile.  
  
_To break this pattern down._  
_(Down, down)_

“S-So, uh- mMF-!” His shy question's cut off by a pair of rough, alcohol-stained lips pressing up against his own, slightly spit-slick ones. Morty’s eyes go wide for a few moments, then he practically melts into the kiss with a soft whine.  
  
_I did it like this,_  
_I did it like that,_

A leg’s shoved in-between his own, grinding up _hard_ , hard enough that he can feel it through the thin layers of fishnet stockings and salaciously short black bootyshorts.  
  
_And it always comes back somehow  
I don't know how _

Then it's replaced with Rick’s dick, and now everything is _Rick_ _Rick Rick,_ and he almost can't breathe but he kind of likes the almost-suffocating pressure of his grandfather’s mouth against his own.  
  
_To break this pattern down.  
(Down, down, down, down) _

They grind until it's almost unbearable, Morty cumming into his thong and shorts with a cut-off little squeal.  
  
_I think I've been here before,  
I think I've run into you, _

Rick only lasts a few minutes longer with Morty’s _very_ talented mouth on his almost obnoxiously large dick.  
  
_I know the things that you do,_  
_'Cause this is déjà vu._

Both panting hard and Morty resting his head on Rick’s still-clothed chest, Rick’s the first to break the pant-laden silence with a gruff chuckle. “N-Nice, nice to meet you for _real,_ Morty.”  
  
_This is déjà vu._  
_(Whoaa)_  
_This is déjà vu.  
_  
Yeah, Morty thinks. They're gonna get along _just_ fine.

**Author's Note:**

> Tumblr's mortysmithh, send me Sin™ requests and ideas!!  
> I'm considering making this into a real/full series, hopefully I can pull together some more ideas/enough ideas to keep it up!!


End file.
